Houston, we have a problem
by Soncnica
Summary: …digging up a grave. I mean… what could possibly go wrong, right?


**Umm… so… yeah… don't ask… **

**I own nothing. Sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes. **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

Digging up a grave is hard work… just ask Sam. He's been doing it for… ages. Well, not ages ages, but… awhile. He can still remember the night when he dug up his first grave. That was really… something. Something that he'll never forget, although he's tried. Multiple times. But the thing with memories is that… they are pesky little things. Sort of like mosquitoes.

"_Lift with your legs, Sammy." his brother whispered at his back._

"_I'm doing my best. And don't call me Sammy." he snapped back and hit the dirt with his shovel once more, hitting the coffin. Dean helped him clear the wood of dirt and then whispered: "Open it."_

_Dean__ scooted out of the grave and left him there. To open it. _

"_Come on, Sammy. You have to open it. It's like…"_

"_Yeah, yeah…" _

_He swallowed and leaned forward. The damn thing was heavy to open and listening to Dean cheering him on, didn't help any. Didn't make it any easier. But if anything, Dean was right about one thing. He had to do it. It was expected of him** -** if necessary - to do this on his own one day. _

_And when he did it… the smell that hit him and those bones there… he puked all over them. _

But since then, things have improved. Massively. Now, he can dig up a grave without puking or even feelin' it in the mornin'. Because that… that was kind of awkward.

"_Sam?"_

"'_m shoulders hurt."_

_Dean laughed: "Practice, Sammy. You need to get some more muscles on ya." _

"_Don't call me Sammy. 'm not a kid." Pause. "And it really hurts."_

How he wishes now that he'd never said anything to his brother then. Because then Dean got out some kind of a lotion, made out of God knows what and put it on his shoulders and that… smelled so bad, he was able to smell it on him for a month afterwards. But it helped. He can't deny that.

So his first time sucked. It was as hot as in a furnace that night, he was sweating and his hand kept sliding off the shovel. And his brother was being a dick about it.

"_What's the matter Sammy?__ Too slick for ya? "_

_He turned around to see the smirk on his brother's face and __whispered: "Grow up, Dean!" _

And it never got any easier.

The art of digging up a grave is as complicated as… well, digging up a grave. First you have to actually have a grave to dig up. And see, Sam is smart and his brother is smart too and their Dad taught them well and combine all the 'smarts' they have and what do you get? Hours of spending time in front of the computer in the local library with a pretty, perky little librarian breathing down your brother's neck, distracting your brother from his work and all that just sets you both back for couple of hours at least. Awesome. So that means no dinner. And probably no sleep either.

Second thing that you have to have is a shovel, and I don't mean one of those 'use it once and it'll snap in two in your hand' types of shovels. Yes, unfortunately they do exist. Ask Dean, he'll show you the scar on his palm; it's a small scar, not visible if you're not looking for it. And ask Sam, he'll tell you about how bloody his brother's hand was then.

"_Dean?"_

"'_m good."_

"_You're bleeding."_

"_What gave you that idea, genius?" _

"_Did you just… break that shovel?"_

"_It broke itself. Not my fault it's a piece of crap."_

"_Uh…"_

Then you have to have salt, a lighter and some accelerator. Dean is good with those. Ask him and he'll go on and on and on and on and… yeah, you get the point.

Then you have to have good weather conditions. Not to hot; don't wanna boil yourself while rearranging someone's eternal home. And not too cold; because you don't wanna freeze your ass off before you even make it to the grave.

But the most important thing you have to remember is; do not go digging up piles of dirt in rain or snow. Rain is a bad son of a bitch; it makes the earth so damn heavy. And let's not start on how bad snow is.

You really do not want to go digging up a body when it's raining cats and dogs or when the snow is pilled on the grave so high, you'd need a snowplow to help you out.

Like right now. Hey, a job is a job and it has to be taken care of. Besides… rules are meant to be broken. Right?

"Sam, 'm freakn' freezing my ass over here. Can you just, I don't know, maybe speed up a bit?"

"Yeah, sure… I'll just push this to warp speed and then we can go have tequila in Mexico."

"That would be awesome, man."

Dean got a dreamy eyed stare and Sam pushed his shovel deeper into the earth. This… this was not going as planned.

Then after you have all that; a grave to rearrange, a shovel that will last you longer then just one grave, Dean's degree on salt and lighter, heavy snow falling on ya, an annoying brother who can't help ya, because something clawed him good on your last hunt… you're all set.

You can start.

And after awhile you can finish too. Imagine that.

"Open it up. Let's fry us some bones, Sammy."

He says nothing. Dean is much too… happy for this time of the night; he just really does not wanna go there. He thinks that maybe Dean scored himself a date with that librarian, but yeah… just… he really doesn't wanna go there.

So he throws the shovel Dean's way, barely misses his feet, leans forward, opens the coffin and oh, oh oh, this is what he so doesn't like when it happens. And strangely, it does happen sometimes.

"Dean, there's no body in here."

"What do you mean, there's no body in here?"

"Umm, I mean there's no body in here as in there's no body in here."

He looks up to see Dean leaning in, his eyes wide and the beam of the flashlight directed right into the empty casket.

"Well then, Sammy. I think we have a problem."

He wants to say 'Oh, really Dean, you don't say' but what he does say is: "Crap."

**---**

**The End.**


End file.
